If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.

It was hot…damned hot. Albus couldn’t believe the spike in temperature in the matter of just a few days, and all in an inconvenient time. Somehow, his brother, James, had been selected as Keeper for Team England in the 2030 Quidditch World Cup, but the nastiest heat wave in a century was beginning to dampen the younger Potter brother’s enthusiasm for the event.

It was the first time that the games had been hosted on English soil since the late nineteenth century, and every Weasley in the world was flocking to attend. Their dad, of course, had been able to reserve an entire private suite for the family. When they had all arrived, it was a veritable sea of ginger hair, eager to see one of their own compete in the largest sports spectacle in the wizard world.

The match was Russia versus England. Russia had earned their berth by virtue of the strongest trio of Chasers that anyone had ever seen in living memory, whilst England had ridden on the coattails of James, who was deemed the best Keeper in the world, bar none. It would be quite a clash between an unstoppable force and an unmovable object.

Despite the sweltering temperature, Albus was into the game from the first toss of the Quaffle. He now knew why the Russian Chasers were considered the best, because they moved almost quicker than the naked eye could follow. Their movement of the Quaffle was a thing of beauty.

But if one man was up to that task, it was James. With every shot on the hoops, James was equal to the challenge. After nearly four hours, the score was deadlocked at a mere twenty points per side. It was obvious that this match would be decided by whoever captured the Snitch, because neither James nor the Russian Chasers seemed willing to give in.

On the ninth hour of the match, though the audience was weary from heat exhaustion and the late hour, everyone was still riveted by the clash of these Titans, including Albus. Quidditch had never been his favourite thing, but even he could see that he was witnessing a piece of history.

The Russians, though, appeared to have had enough. After a quick word with the rest of their ranks, they spread out in an as-of-yet-unseen formation. Albus wondered if they had been saving this for an emergency, but his suspicions were horribly confirmed in mere seconds.

One Russian Chaser took a half-hearted shot toward the hoops, and James made the routine stop with his ever-present smirk of superiority. That had, however, only been a distraction whilst the visiting team executed their true plan. One of their Beaters aimed the Bludger at his partner, who was behind James and the English hoops. The second Beater deflected the projectile, and the missile his James square on the back, sending him plummeting from his broom toward the pitch like a limp doll.

Albus grabbed onto his father’s arm, watching in horror as his brother, who he cared for deeply, no matter what he said, fell from at least three-hundred feet in the air toward what would certainly be grievous injury—or worse. A thousand wands were withdrawn to stop the rapid descent, but each one of them were too late.

Unlike the school teams and professional leagues, the World Cup matches were not played with the safety spells for just this instance, as they ran the risk of interfering in the matches at times. Albus had never given it a second thought until that moment, when his brother’s life depended on it.

James hit the ground with a dull thud, and the entire Weasley family rushed to the infirmary behind the stadium, where he would likely have been taken. Albus felt closed in by the mass of his relatives, and he was desperate to break away from them all and be the first to get to his brother’s side.

No one, however, moved faster than Harry, who was living a father’s worst nightmare. James’s motionless form had arrived a mere few seconds before the flock of Weasleys, but no one could see him until the Healers could make a preliminary examination.

Harry paced back and forth, muttering about safety and cheating, whereas Albus held his sister, Lily, as she cried in his arms. They waited for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time for some—any—kind of news.

At last, a Healer came out to address Harry directly. Though they were speaking in hushed voices, Albus was just close enough to hear what was being said.

James was alive, and he would probably be okay, but he was extremely lucky. Even during his fall, James had had the foresight to fall feet first, which kept him from falling on his back or his head, either of which would have almost certainly killed him. Both of his legs were broken, but that was the worst of the damage as far as they could tell.

In an inappropriate moment, Albus was reminded of his first fall from a broom and how much that had frightened him. He felt shame that his brother had nearly died, yet had still had the wherewithal to save his own life. He felt an unwelcomed wave of bitterness at the thought that his brother could even outshine him at falling.

It was the day James was coming home from St Mungo’s after his injury at the Quidditch World Cup, and Albus was nervous. Something about James had drastically changed in the times that they had visited in the hospital. Normally, James was boisterous, talkative, and confident, but he was quiet, reserved, and didn’t look anyone in the eye.

And when he walked through the door to his welcome home party, the changes in him became painfully obvious. He walked with the assistance of a cane, as his legs were still in the mending process, and his back was rigid from the pain of the Bludger’s impact. He just looked around at the gathering of his friends, teammates from both his Puddlemere United team and World Cup team, as well as a generous portion of family, and proceeded toward the stairs.

“I’m kind of tired. I’ll just head to bed,” he said quietly, leaving a hushed crowd in his wake.

Albus simply stared at his brother struggling to climb the stairs with the help of his girlfriend, Augusta. A girl of slight stature, she struggled under his weight, which was a little under fifteen stone, but no one could snap out of their trance-like state to help her.

Finally, Albus went after the two of them, putting his arm under James’s and helping to lift his body up one stair after the next. It would have been far simpler to Levitate him up the stairs, but knowing his brother, he would not have gone for that.

At last, they reached James’s room at the Potter family home, where he would be staying for the rest of his recovery, but at the door, James stopped them all in their tracks.

“I can get on fine by myself now, thanks.” With that, he opened the door, entered, and slammed the door in Albus and Augusta’s faces.

They both looked at one another in surprise. James had never acted like this his whole life. They both wanted to help him, but he obviously had other plans. Augusta leant against the wall, and tears started to stream down her face.

“Has he been like this since St Mungo’s?” Albus asked her.

She nodded. “All the time.”

The thought of James treating his girlfriend, who had stuck with him, despite his ridiculous travelling schedule for Quidditch and his propensity for late-night partying, in such a manner infuriated Albus. He was not going to let him get away with it.

Leaving Augusta in the hall, Albus flung open the door and kicked it closed behind him. James raised his head to see who had dared disturb him and went back to changing his clothes when he saw that it was his brother.

“F*** you, James.”

That got James’s attention quickly. “No thanks, I’d rather not,” he said dryly.

Albus walked over to James, staring him in the eye, despite the four-inch difference in their respective heights. “You’re a coward and a brute, and I hate you!” he hissed.

“And?” James said, his voice adopting a threatening tone.

The nonchalance of James’s reply incensed Albus further. “And that girl out there—“ he jabbed his finger toward the door, “—loves you, Merlin knows why! How can you treat her like this when she’s done nothing but stand by you this whole time?”

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot think, you self-serving son of a *****!” Albus’s chest was heaving in indignation. He was dangerously close to striking James.

But James didn’t seem to care. “Ha! I’d like to see you do anything about it.”

That caused Albus to snap. He wound his fist back and punched James in the face with every bit of adrenaline-fuelled strength he possessed. James fell onto his bed, half-dressed and unconscious.

Albus felt like he should’ve been appalled at what he had done, but he wasn’t. Someone needed to take James off of his high horse and back into reality, and it had just happened to be his normally physically-inferior little brother.

Without another word, Albus walked out of the room and back down the stairs. When he reached the still-silent welcome home party, he merely headed toward the exit and gave a quick wave goodbye before walking out into the night.

Title: Of Fighting and FirewhiskeyPrompt: crunchPairings/Characters: Albus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ginny Potter, James Potter, Lily PotterRating: 6th/7th yearsWarnings: Strong Profanity, ViolenceWord Count: er, didn't count, and I already closed the doc. I know it's over, but I don't have queue space for this particular category at the moment, or I would have submitted it. This is for the sake of 'done-ness'.

The days of James’s recovery melded into weeks. Those weeks morphed into months, and many members of the Potter clan wondered if they would ever get him back. That is, of course, all except one.

Albus sat on the floor of his flat, his back against the doorjamb between the kitchen and the hallway. He puffed on a chubby cigar, trying to blow smoke rings with his breath. Away from inhalation distance sat his best mate, Scorpius Malfoy.

“Why do you insist on smoking those foul things?” Scorpius waved his hand at an oncoming cloud.

“Because I want to.”

“Why?”

“Shouldn’t it be up to me? If I want to self-destruct and kill myself slowly, who’s to say I can’t?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Oh, come off it. You’re being a complete prat. Your parents want you home for Christmas, and you’re just making excuses not to go.”

Albus flung himself to his feet. “Because he’s there!” The shout reverberated throughout the flat. “Not that it’s any business of yours.” He resumed amusing himself with puffing out odd shapes in the smoke.

“You bloody coward. You can’t even face your own brother.” Scorpius moved toward Albus and snatched the cigar from his hand. “You’re no better than he is.”

Eyes reproachful, Albus glared at Scorpius, but he had no answer. There was no answer. Scorpius was a more skilled and powerful wizard than he was, and it was obvious that his plans for Christmas had just been made. He was going home.

The table was silent, save for the clicking of plates. No one said a word, because every attempt to start conversation merely ended with Ginny or Lily chattering on about trivialities. Harry would bury his face in his hands frustratedly and both James and Albus stared straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone. Eventually, everyone gave up trying to make small talk and just ate as quickly as they could.

After their farcical tea, the Potters gravitated toward the sitting room. The wireless blared one of the thousand renditions of ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs’, but that was the only sound that could be heard. The silence was certainly not a comfortable one, and when nearly an hour of it had passed, the family patriarch had had enough.

“This is ridiculous!” Harry said. He got up from his chair and marched over to the sofa, where each of his sons sat, as far from one another as they could get. “You two are being idiots, and this stops. Now.”

Harry grabbed his eldest son by his collar and hauled him to his feet. “To hell with that. Now, you listen to me.” He shoved James back down on the sofa. “You two are adults. You’re not ten years old, and this has got to stop.”

Albus yawned and nonchalantly checked his watch. “Getting late. I should probably head out.”

As Albus made to leave, Harry put his hand in the centre of Albus’s chest and pushed him back to his former seat as rudely as he had done with James. “You two sit here and talk this out like civilised people. I will not have you upsetting your mother any more than you already have.”

With that, Harry left the room, followed by silent, dumbstruck Ginny and Lily. James and Albus both remained in their seats, staring straight ahead. One of them would have to end the stand-off, and that was James.

“I was only half a man. I couldn’t even walk up the ****ing stairs.”

Not looking at James, Albus replied, “So? You were hurt. No one thought any less of you.”

“That’s not the point. I can’t stand to be like that, and I certainly didn’t want anyone to see.”

Finally, Albus turned his eyes to his brother, if only to stare in disbelief. “Are you honestly that thick? You really care about how macho you look around people who have changed your nappies?” Shaking his head, Albus averted his gaze to the ceiling. “Merlin, you’re stupider than I thought.”

James tossed himself of the sofa and stood in front of Albus, pointing his finger accusingly. “And what do you know? You hide with your books and your job, and you’re barely alive! What have you got to lose?”

Albus’s voice was wrought with incredulity. “I’ve got some bloody perspective, which you clearly haven’t got!”

All at once, Albus and James were on one another, each trying to vent their rage and frustration in the most feral way possible. James punched Albus in the stomach, but the younger sibling responded with a kick to the shin. Thrown off balance, James stumbled, which allowed Albus to knock him down.

On the floor but not out for the count, James used a leg scissors to take Albus’s feet out from beneath him. Albus’s glasses went flying backwards, landing on the stone hearth with a crunch. That did not, however, deter the responding attack. With a guttural yell that was so out-of-place for the normally docile Albus, he launched his body like a missile at James, and they landed on the coffee table. The wood splintered under their weight as they kept brawling

For nearly ten minutes, the battle raged on, neither gaining the advantage, until they both slid to the floor in pure exhaustion.

Panting for breath, James spoke first. “I was the best. I was the best in the world, and they took that away from me. They told me I can never play again.”

“Then be the best at something else,” Albus said simply. “There’s bound to be something out there that even you can’t bollocks up.”

James thunked the back of his head on the wall behind him. “It’s not that simple. It was everything to me. It’s in my blood. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

At last, Albus had finally got to the root of his brother’s issue. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Albus wanted to keep James talking. With every admission, some of the poison that had turned James into a shell of his former self seeped out. Finally, he could make some progress in getting his brother back. “Don’t be. There are so many possibilities for you, starting with that gorgeous woman who miraculously still calls herself your girlfriend.”

James lolled his head to look at Albus. “How has she not left me yet, Al?”

“No idea. She should have, but she loves you.”

“She does.”

“No, I mean she really loves you, and you’re a stupid plonker if you don’t see it.”

Drilling his eyes into the tops of his shoes, James muttered, “I am. You were right, and it’s taken me all this time to realise it. I—I just don’t know where to go from here.”

Scooting closer to James, Albus said, “You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you. Settle down with her, and have yourself a slew of little stupid plonkers who play Quidditch and can fart anyone out of a room.”

At the last part, both men laughed heartily until their eyes watered. James climbed to his feet and helped up Albus, drawing him into a backslapping embrace.

“Love you, little brother.”

Not six hours before, Albus had thought that he would never hear those words again, and they were music to his ears.

Well, almost.

The sounds of the wireless cut through, which caused them both to cringe. “I hate this song,” they both said simultaneously as “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Snorkack” started to play.

“Honestly,” James said, “they’re just trying to make it seem like they always believed in Snorkacks, just because Aunt Luna finally found one.” With a flick of his wand, the wireless stopped. “Enough of that.”

Albus wandered over to the sideboard and opened the cabinet door. Inside was a bottle of amber liquid. “Ha! I knew he’d still have this.”

Curious, James wandered over. “Is that the ’17?”

“Yeah. Dad’s had this bottle of Firewhiskey since I was eleven. Don’t know why, since he doesn’t even drink the stuff.”

With a touch of his old smirk back, James said, “Saving it for a good occasion, I reckon, which I think should be today.” He popped the cork and took a heavy drag off of the bottle, not bothering to use a glass. “Damn, that’s good booze.”

Rolling his eyes, Albus snatched the bottle. “Give me that!” He took a drink as well, gasping for air when he was finished. “You’re right. Tonight is the night this bottle meets its match.”

Albus and James wandered back over to the sofa, passing the bottle of Firewhiskey back and forth. To fill the quiet, they alternated verses of ‘Midnight Broomride’, rejoicing in being brothers once more.